The Best of Me
by gloss my eyes
Summary: Bert McCracken has never quite gotten over his beautiful ex-lover.  Based on the Used's "The Best Of Me"


Bert McCracken was never a man to lie, though he was never more likely to tell the truth. Rather than doing either, he opted to avoid speaking about certain things completely, as was his right as a human being. If a personal matter didn't involve you, he didn't speak to you about it, and that was one thing he stuck by. That was why whenever someone—anyone—asked him a question about his relationship (or prior) with the famous Gerard Way, he'd have to tell you that they merely were not acquaintances anymore and had no plans to be in the near future. That was all anyone knew aside from the small detail that they had a "falling out", which was never defined more than that. Bert had no intention of informing anyone of what happened that lovely morning sometime in the summer of 2005, though many had tried to pry it out of him.

His band-mates, his parents, his closest friends—none of them knew what seemed to drive Bert away from Gerard. It was a phenomenon it seemed, because just days before they had been inseparable friends, but this was just the outward appearance. Truthfully, they had been so much more than mere friends, and only a select few were even aware of this—those people being Bert's band-mates, of course. It was true that they never came out with it to anyone verbally, but it would have been impossible to hide their lust filled kisses and late nights from the three men, especially since the two spent most of their time together in Bert's tour-bus. His three friends never called him out on it; they silently accepted and ignored their relationship.

Four years had not been nearly enough time for Bert to even begin considering forgiving Gerard for what he'd done to him. He never outwardly expressed his distress and dismay, but inwardly he was asking himself the same questions almost every single day. What went wrong? Why did that happen? It was always the same thing for as long as he could remember, and no matter how hard he tried he could not get over it. Reoccurring dreams were the latest of his worries, and they all starred the greasy man himself, spending time with someone who he'd rather stomp into the cement than kiss. Various old memories were tossed in there as well, maybe just to remind him that the length of their relationship marked one of the happiest periods of his life—next to the time before he was homeless and addicted to "crystal" methamphetamine at sixteen.

The dreams had—so far—spanned over a period of six months, and Bert was less than amused. Emotions were so obviously not his forte, hence why he had spent many wasted days of his short life intoxicated and very, very high. So something as real as the dreams he kept having added up with the sickening emotions that were packaged with them made Bert McCracken a grumpy, irritable mess and left his friends and family alike wondering why. It took a lot to make him this angsty, and most who were close to him knew that. Ever the kind one, he told them all that it wasn't their business to ask and it was a personal matter he was dealing with, end of story.

This particular afternoon was not a pleasant one, for Bert woke up from a dream that was nastier than usual. The memory wasn't any more menacing than any other he had, but yet it seemed to have so much more significance. Like the first time they had sex, it was special: it was the first time Gerard had ever told him that he loved him. Bert wasn't one to get attached, yet still, even remembering the way that the man's face had heated; the way his palm perspired more in Bert's hand; the way he smiled nervously and flirtatiously made his heart swell momentarily.

He could almost taste the cigarettes, coffee, and booze on Gerard's body, which was his notorious smell. They weren't in a romantic place when the event happened; it was just behind the Used's tour-bus where no one could see them. "Bert," Gerard had began, anxiety dripping from the single syllable name he'd just used. "I know we've only been seeing each other for a couple of months, but… I really think that I'm falling for you." In the beginning, Gerard never said it directly, but in so many words he did. He'd often try to explain to Bert how much he meant, and how he made him feel, but Gerard could never seem to get the right words to do so. Eventually, he just accepted the cliché and admitted to his face that he loved him. Maybe the reason why Gerard left him was that he never actually said it back.

Rising from the messy, lopsided bed, Bert found his hands searching for a pack of cigarettes. The habit still held him in its jaws, unlike others in the past. His body had been ruined with the amount of pure addiction it had been subjected to, and now Bert found little comfort in these small things. Nicotine was one of the only things left that he could not break himself free of. In any case, he enjoyed the stress relief he got from inhaling the poisonous smoke that was emitted from it. Finally the nubs he called his fingers touched the small, smooth box they had been reaching for, and quickly his legs pulled him downstairs and out his back door despite his still-sleepy state.

He'd been feeling very automatic lately, like there was an autopilot switch in the back of his head that his subconscious kicked on more than every once in a while. This was especially true while he was alone like this, in this big, empty house, with no one to keep him company except his fucked up subconscious that spat twisted and dirty words at him. If he were to stay in this place too long, he'd probably very literally rip and pick himself apart like he used to do when he was much younger and had much more reason to. Nowadays it spent its time criticizing him about how he hadn't moved on from Gerard. Obviously Gerard moved on; he had a wife and a kid now while Bert was still all alone.

Maybe it was completely his fault. Years that could have been spent recuperating were spent getting drunk and high all over again, just to escape the fact that he wasn't good enough and he never would be. If he had been good enough, Gerard would have stuck around. If he was good enough, he wouldn't be alone at this very moment, with little but a cigarette to preoccupy him. "Fuck," he muttered to absolutely no one before he slid the end of the cancer stick into his mouth and lit up, inhaling the poison deep into his lungs. It felt like the fumes spread through his very veins and loosened his muscles down to his very joints, which were always tense these days. God did he feel so much older than he really was.

Pointlessly he stood out on the patio for maybe thirty minutes or so before he finally decided to go back inside. Twenty of those thirty minutes were spent smoking, and thirty of those thirty minutes were also spent thinking, and letting those thoughts attack his insides. Those same thoughts, cold and brutal, followed him into the house and up the stairs before he slammed the door on them when he got to his bathroom. Shaky hands reached out and knobs were turned—hot, scalding water poured from the shower head and without thinking Bert stripped and climbed in. The unforgiving heat of the water pounded on his nerves but he didn't care; physical pain was so much easier for him to deal with than emotional.

He began to wash himself, scrubbing the skin hard. Though his eyes watered he refused to cry. He'd hardly ever cried in his lifetime, aside from when he was a child, so why start now? He'd sooner gauge his own eyes out then admit weakness; to feel like he had to rely on someone to hold his hand and help him along. As if on cue, someone knocked on the bathroom door. "Bert! The back door was open so I just let myself in." It was long-time best friend, Quinn Allman. "Kay man, I'll be out in a little bit." But instead of waiting, Quinn just strode right in, despite the fact that his best friend was naked. "'Sup, dude? You didn't answer any of my calls last night. The guys and I went out for a couple beers and we were going to invite you, too." Quinn hopped up on the sink while Bert continued to wash his hair, leaving the curtains open a crack so communication could be sustained.

This was an example of how comfortable they were with each other, and neither of them considered it gay all. They were comfortable with kissing, and holding hands, and even being naked around each other. Maybe it was due to Bert's eccentric nature and how Quinn had learned to accept him, or maybe it was just the intense bond they shared. Whatever it was, Quinn was the one person that Bert had come to halfway rely on, despite his reluctance. He knew he could always count on Quinn, no matter what kind of problem he had. "I don't know, dude. I think I was high." If it surprised his best friend to hear this he didn't show it, his eyes just wandering around the bathroom with boredom while Bert finished showering. "Well whatever, you totally missed it. This really gay guy tried to buy Dan a drink. It was so funny. And all the while Jeph's sitting there egging him on, saying, 'Oh no he's totally free' and 'Dan's a cutie, isn't he?' and shit like that."

Bert cracked up, imagining the look on his band-mate's face. "I bet Dan whipped Jepha good, huh?" he asked with a snicker, beginning to wash the shampoo out of his hair. "Almost. He chased him around his house with a drumstick when he got back, but that fucker is fast." Again, Bert laughed. Quinn always seemed to know what to say and how to say it to make him laugh, and that was a great thing about him. If it was anyone else though, Bert probably would have just rolled his eyes at that sentence. Soon he was done, and he turned the water off and stepped out. Quinn didn't even grimace at Bert's nakedness, possibly because he was quite used to it by now, and handed him a big, fluffy towel. "Thanks," was the muffled response since the towel was now being used to dry off his face and his hair at least a little. Now at least it wouldn't look so dirty and gross if Quinn and he decided to do anything later. "Anyway, that's not the most interesting news of the day. We, the people of the Used, got invited to a party next month out at Brian Schechter's house. It's supposed to be huge."

That was interesting news. Brian hadn't thrown a party in a while, and Bert hadn't gone to one in that very same amount of time. It's not as if they stopped being friends; they just stopped any real contact between each other because of how busy (and angsty) Bert had gotten over the past four years. "Am I required to go?" he asked Quinn, wrapping the towel around his waist and heading off to the messy, cluttered bedroom that he called his own. "Well kinda. Not really, but I think he was kinda hoping you would. He said to invite you too, 'cause he missed you something fierce. So I think you should go, okay? Just consider it." Perhaps if Quinn hadn't sounded so sincere about it, Bert would have just spit on the idea and moved on. But he couldn't, because he had. "Well I guess I'll consider it." "Good, Bert. I don't want you to just waste your life away here, in this house, getting high."

Bert would have laughed, but truthfully he didn't want himself to either.

[b][i]"Oh fuck, Bert!" The moan was like music to his ears. He loved to hear his voice like that, the tone so rich with a need, and a need for him. "What was that? You want me to what?" "F-fuck me, please!" The younger of the two men chuckled, amused by the older's pleas. Now he pulled his hand away despite a high whine—he grabbed the other's hips tightly instead, digging his dirty fingernails into the skin just to watch him writhe. "Oh Gerard, you're so dirty. I love it," he growled, the hungry noise coming directly from the back of his throat. That was when it really began. He thrust in as roughly as possible, enjoying the pleased whimper of the masochist beneath him. This was filthy. Yes, their love was dirty, gross, disgusting even, but he loved it. He loved the ugly words that spewed from their lips, and he loved the nasty pleasure that they both got from receiving and giving pain. It was sickening, but it was theirs—and Bert craved it. He craved it more than anything else in the world.

"Keep it down, fuckers!" The call was from Jepha, who was obviously more than used to such things and just wanted some peace so he could get to sleep. Bert wasn't really listening anyway; he continued to literally slam into his lover, again, and again, and again. Gerard's face was buried in the pillow and he was moaning; moaning for him to go even faster, and to go even harder. That was something Bert could oblige to. Being mushy, expressing feelings, being [i]loving?[i] Those were things that were completely out of his league. He was probably the worst possible person to be in an actual relationship with, which was—almost—what this was. How Gerard could stand him, he didn't know. It was hard for him to be even the slightest bit romantic.

But It was quite simple to pound into him, and it was even easier to let the pleasure of it all overwhelm him so that he couldn't think straight. Even if this relationship wasn't good for Gerard, he still seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes he complained about how heartless that Bert seemed to be, but he never once threatened to leave him. They'd never broken up, even once, and yeah—was that surprising? Slightly For one, neither of them had ever been in a gay relationship. Gerard had never even kissed a guy before… or so he said. Reality flashed back quickly when the older male he was fucking began to thrust his hips back, driving him deeper inside of him and making him cry out. "B-Bert!" Gerard's voice shrieked, muffled slightly by the pillows, "I'm g-gonna c—"

Before the older had time to finish with his sentence the pleasure must have hit him full force, because he screamed. He screamed loudly and his spine arched as he did so, causing Bert to go even deeper on his next thrust. That was when he came as well, a moan bellowing from his throat. He managed to pull out of his lover, collapsing next to him soon after with a huff. "G-good sex," Gerard whispered shakily. For a moment, all was silent… until the curtain that made their bunk private was ripped open and Jeph was leaning down from the bunk above them, looking sleepy and red in the face. "I hope you're fucking DONE now, so I can get some SLEEP. So GOODNIGHT, you FUCKHEADS." Those words were spat with emphasized venom before Jepha politely closed the curtain again.

The two just looked at each other and started cracking up.[/i][/b]

When he awoke, that laughter was still ringing in his ears. He half expected Gerard to be lying right next to him, laughing his ass off about what Jeph said. But sadly, he wasn't. There was someone though, and for a moment Bert panicked. [i]Who did I do last night and what the fuck is in my bed?[/i] he asked himself, sitting up more so he could see the face of the mystery person. Except when he really looked, he realized it was no mystery person; it was Quinn, shirtless with his face buried in the pillow. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing in my bed?" Bert asked him, shoving him a bit with his right hand. Quinn roused slightly at that, groaning softly to himself. It took a minute, but finally he responded with a low mumble. "Fucking sleeping, what does it look like?" "It looks like there's a sexy man in my bed and I haven't fondled him yet," Bert said charmingly, reaching out to squeeze his friend's ass in his hand. "Much better. Now, I think I'll go have a smoke."

He could've sworn he heard Quinn mention something about him being a freak, but it might've been his imagination.

While he tried to find his pack of cigarettes, he tried to remember what happened last night. Oh right, then he remembered—he remembered when he thought about it very hard, that was. Quinn had dropped by yesterday earlier, and later they went out for a beer with the guys like they had done the prior day without Bert. Indeed there was a very gay guy there that had tried to pick Dan up, but it hadn't worked out too well… and Bert couldn't really remember much more. He assumed that they all decided to head over here; or at least Quinn did, since he was in the bed with him. The hallway was decently trashed when he exited his room, gingerly stepping over things and trying not to trip over anything.

The tile was cold on his bare feet when he reached the kitchen, but that was the least of his worries. He couldn't find his cigarettes upstairs and so far they were nowhere to be seen down here, but he did find a couple of guys passed out on his floor in the living room—no surprise, it was Jepha and Dan. "Hey Dan, can I bum a fag?" Bert asked in a hushed voice, poking at the band's drummer affectionately. His answer was close to gibberish, but Bert went ahead and inferred it as a yes, taking one out of the pack that was in his front pocket and making sure to put it back. What a great friend Dan was. Hell, before he even went outside he gave Dan a nice kiss on the lips to show him how much it meant. Dan just swatted him away with an irritated groan, mumbling for Bert to "leave him alone, he'd make out with him later." Ah, they knew him so well.

"Does Jeph-y want a kiss too?" Bert cooed, tiptoeing over to where the dark-haired man was resting on the couch. When there was no response, Bert leaned down anyway, pecking the Jeph-ster's lips lightly and pulling away seconds after. He wasn't expecting it, but the corner of Jeph's lips lifted up into a slight smirk, and he was pulled back down for a deep, passionate kiss full of tongue and everything. "Morning to you, too," Bert said with a snort, wiping whatever saliva was still dripping from his lips. "What's gotten into you?" "You asked me if I wanted a kiss too. Didn't say no, did I? 'Sides, I could use some action first thing in the morning, and gee, it's not like I haven't kissed you enough." Gee… that word was enough to turn Bert's face stone cold, a single grunt as a reply before he stood and went outside.

Everything wanted to remind him of Gerard, huh?

"Well this is what I think of him!" Bert growled, kicking the tree he was standing under as hard as he could. Anger hadn't shaken him like this in quite a while but it was back, slithering smoothly through his veins. "Fuck!" Why couldn't he just forget him? It would be so much easier. It would be so much easier if Bert could forget his name and his face and anything else about him that continued to stalk him. Without warning he let a scream rip through him, the jagged, crooked edges scraping their way up his lungs and his throat, and then out his mouth. It lasted for too long almost—so long that he thought his vocal cords might fall out. It lasted until Jeph rushed outside; looking for any signs that his friend had befell danger. "What is it, Bert? What's wrong?" Bert didn't reply; he shoved past Jeph and into the house, searching for a weapon that could help him release his anger.

Bert found a pen, and began to write.

"Guys this is great!" Matt Squire exclaimed, a look of clear happiness on his face. They were in the studio recording their new record, which was being produced by Matt Squire. It was a first working with him, but they all got along great, and somehow Matt was able to handle Bert's very extroverted personality. Quinn told him straight up that it was a requirement to be able to handle being alone in a room with Bert for long periods of time, but of course he was joking since Bert was actually a very pleasant man—sometimes. Sometimes he could be the most immature, obnoxious, overdramatic person that anyone could ever meet, but hey, you won some and lost some with him. "I really like the way this is coming together."

Matt went into great detail the things that he wanted to get accomplished within this next week, and amazingly Bert hung in for all of it. "Sounds good," Quinn said, and the others agreed. They all looked at Bert for the final verdict, and the greasy male nodded and said, "Let's do it," in the most bogus voice he could while grinning widely. "All right then, class is dismissed," Matt said jokingly. They all laughed and stood to say their goodbyes to Matt, and left the building. "So you guys wanna hang then?" Dan questioned as they got closer to their vehicles. "Yeah, because we really have nothing better to do than hang with [i]you[/i]," Jepha teased, shoving Dan playfully. "No seriously guys, I don't have anything to do tonight. You can come over and we can play some video games or just chill and shit."

Bert giggled when Jepha replied, "What are we, like, twelve?" before he took off. He was just teasing Dan and Dan probably knew that, but he tried chasing him down anyway. "Get back here, fucker!" The drummer called, speeding ahead and leaving Quinn and Bert in the dust. Bert wasn't really in any hurry to get home anyway, but tonight seemed to be one of the nights he didn't feel like having a bunch of people around. It was the kind of night where he would probably invite his on-again off-again friend Jack Daniels over for a slumber party. Quinn, maybe sensing this, slung an arm around Bert's shoulder and pulled him a bit closer. In return Bert brought an arm up to wrap around Quinn's waist. "We don't have to go with them, you know. We could just go to your house and do some fun shit. Or you could come to mine. Whatever you want, buddy. I just don't know if it's a good idea to leave you alone. Jeph told me about what happened yesterday."

"What's new? I'm always a fucking mess, Quinn. You know that." His friend laughed grimly and nodded, because he did indeed know that. Bert had been a mess since day one, and maybe that was what made Quinn feel like he had to be a crutch for Bert, and be someone he could rely on. This kind of friendship was not seen very often; it was a friendship that was often times more like a romantic relationship, but not. Their level of intimacy was often looked down upon, especially since they were two male friends. They shared gum, food, drinks—they shared everything. Quinn would do absolutely anything to make Bert happy, and he knew that even though he might not like to admit it, Bert would do the same for him. They were truly blue and yellow. "Even if you've always been a mess, I want to keep you company. You need it, dude. I don't want you to fall apart again." Bert smiled; he was always falling apart—more and more every day it seemed.

It couldn't hurt to let Quinn in like he always did, no matter what. Even though this time, he was so afraid of breaking down. He could feel like he was always close to one of those, and every minute that ticked by he was closer to completely loosing it. Even he couldn't predict himself anymore; he felt so much crazier than he really was. "Do you really want [i]my[/i] company?" he finally asked Quinn with a small, almost defeated sigh. His best friend leaned over to smooch his cheek gently with a large grin, the kind that the two of them shared with each other often. "Of course I do, Bert. Don't I always?" Like he said before, Quinn Allman was the only person in the entire world that Bert could even half rely on, and this moment in time was proof of that very interesting fact of life.

Quinn was possibly the only thing keeping him sane nowadays.

"Please tell me you know what you're doing."

An almost evil grin was half of his reply; the other half was a solid "nope."

"Bert is this gonna hurt like f-FFUUUCK!"

"…There is your answer, my friend."

Bert and Quinn had just spent the past half an hour playing truth or dare, and unfortunately for Quinn he seemed to have forgotten just how interesting Bert's dares sometimes became. In this particular instance, Quinn asked for a gnarly dare and was presented with the option of waxing his pubic hair or letting Bert's tarantula, Jimmy (short for "Jimmy Ate the World"), climb down his pants. Not completely and utterly insane, Quinn picked the option that was least likely for him to either a) have a panic attack or b) have something fuzzy crawling all over his dick. So, in attempt to appease his impatient band-mate, Quinn dropped his pants and waited for Bert to get the waxing kit that he had yet to try out on himself. As it turned out, it hurt an awful lot, and Quinn wasn't exactly eager to try it anymore. "Well you can't just quit, pussy," Bert insisted with a snide smirk.

A few minutes and a lot less hair later, Quinn and Bert decided to lounge out on the patio for just a bit so Quinn could get some air. "That hurt a lot, you fucker," he grumbled, smacking his best friend's arm lightly. Bert giggled, still not over the fact that Quinn had even let him do it in the first place. "You know you love it. Plus, I hear it feels extra good to jack off right after a wax. But that's just what I heard." The brunette rolled his eyes and ruffled Bert's black, greasy hair. "Because you totally want to sit here and watch me jack off, don't you?" His friend provided a faux sheepish grin, inhaling a bit from the cigarette in his hand. "Guilty as charged. It's not my fault you're so hot, Quinn-y." "Not the point, Bert-y. I charge you for reckless use of waxing materials just so you can watch a hot guy jack off." The shorter of the two frowned, batting his eyelashes innocently. "Well then I plead insanity. I fucking win, end of fucking story."

Quinn smiled brightly. "Ah, ah, ah, Bert, remember one of my dares?" Maybe twenty minutes ago Quinn had made a safe investment and dared Bert to give him a quarter every time he said the word "fuck" or any of its other forms for the rest of the night. It took a moment for Bert to recall, but once he did he gave a "oh fuck" and rummaged through the pocket of his pants, pulling out his wallet. "How many quarters do I owe you now?" "Three, Bert." "Three? When the fuck did I say—" "That's four now." "Damn it." With a long sigh he took out a dollar and handed it over to the brunette. "You know, I should really learn to control my effing mouth." With a snort, Quinn held out his hand intently. Bert started at it, not quite sure why he was being prodded for more. "I said any of its forms, and that is one. So sorry dude, now it's five." "Well fuck." "Six."

With a heavy heart he handed over two more quarters, shaking his head at himself. "I think I'm beginning to regret telling you that I could do this easy." [i]Easy-peasy pumpkin-peasy[/i]… Of course, [b]everything[/b] went back to him. With an angry grunt Bert tossed the empty can of beer that was next to him at the concrete, satisfied at the noise it made. "What'd you do that for?" The brunette asked, curiously glancing over at Bert. "Because I HATE pumpkins." Quinn gave his best friend a seriously concerned look before he simply patted his leg, figuring that all he needed was a bit of comfort… what for he wasn't so sure of. "What should we do now that you have stripped me of my manhood?" "I didn't cut off your cock, dude, I just waxed your hairy—" "Figuratively speaking, Bert. Now seriously, what now?"

A feral grin crossed his lips. "Wanna do mine?"

When he first saw him, he wasn't sure what to think. Of course Brian Schechter assured him several times that Gerard was a great guy; Bert couldn't really be sure until he met him. So a meeting was arranged for them thanks to Brian, and in a pizza parlor no less. When he arrived he wasn't sure what to expect, but he trusted Schechter so he bravely went in. "Well isn't this fucking special," he cooed sweetly when he saw Brian, pulling him into a brotherly hug. It was at that time that he noticed a shy looking fellow in the seat that was next to Schechter's, looking at him cautiously. They all sat down again, and one at a time, Brian introduced them to each other.

"Bert, this is Gerard Way. Gerard, this is Bert McCracken." "Brian, you're Brian Schechter." The tour manager rolled his eyes but played along, nodding slowly. "That's right, Bert. My, you sure do learn fast." Gerard, at the time, hadn't been quite sure if Brian was teasing him or mocking him, or even if Bert was going to take it offensively. Of course he didn't, placing a big sloppy kiss on the short, tattooed man. "Thanks for noticing. I really am trying. Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Gerard Way." He extended a hand without hesitation, which was surprising to Gerard. He, however, was very reluctant to shake it. Seconds passed and Bert thought that maybe he'd been wrong to offer a shake to him, but finally the timid young man did shake his hand, a small grin on his face. "Nice to meet you too, Bert McCracken."

Bert would have never been able to guess how nice it actually was.

After one made it past that outer shell of his, Gerard was actually a very interesting person, in Bert's always humble opinion. His opinions were usually strong but soft-spoken; he certainly didn't want to preach to people. Bert liked that Gerard tried to reach out to people when they needed his help, and yet he never expected the same from anyone else. There were just so many intriguing things about him from the very start; Bert should have seen that he was going to get sucked into the other's deceptive web. Gerard gave the illusion that he was actually interested, and the next day he'd ignore you completely. It was a frustrating thing for Bert because he'd never experienced such a thing before. He'd never experienced real feelings for a guy, either, of all people. This male was something different, something that Bert wanted exceedingly more each and every day.

So he sought after him.

At first, Gerard didn't respond to his attempts. Bert was naturally flirtatious with everybody, so maybe he assumed it was just something that wasn't specifically directed at him, but regardless he didn't really ever flirt back. That was, until Bert decided to back off and pretend that he wasn't interested anymore. That was when Gerard began to desperately seek his attention, with meaningless flattery and fake smiles. Bert completely ignored this, and his approaches became less subtle and more direct, which was surprising, but pleasing. Eventually the inevitable happened: one day they were just simply talking, and Gerard ended up pressed against the side of the tour bus. Their relationship was like a match to gasoline; it exploded into brilliant and dangerous fire. But like fire, eventually their feelings seemed to fizzle out. Or at least Gerard's did.

The worst part was, Gerard didn't even break up with him to his face. He just woke up one morning in a hotel room with nothing but a note by the bedside, signed by the one and only Gerard Way. It was the note he still had somewhere in his room, packed away with all the other things that Gerard gave him. It was the note that seemed to come alive and rip his heart from his chest while it was still beating. It didn't really hit him until that night what had really happened. That was one of the single, most heart-breaking nights that he ever had. Screaming, blood, anger… it all came out of him that night. He never quite remembered what happened, and he was alone when it did, so no one else was a witness to his disgusting meltdown. That part he was grateful for. Yet… maybe if there had been someone to listen to him, he wouldn't be so close to destruction now.

This is what had been going on in his head all morning. He woke up much earlier than expected with a headache and missing pubic hair, but Quinn was next to him so he figured that whatever had happened Quinn would be able to recall it. A hangover this multitude must've meant that there had been a lot of drinking involved last night, like there always was when friends got together no matter what. Even though he'd been sober for quite a while, alcohol seemed to be catching back up with him lately. Quinn apparently wasn't helping his fight to become "mostly-addiction-free", because he wasn't stopping him from drinking. However, he knew it wasn't Quinn's responsibility to abstain from alcohol for him—it was his own job, and he too wasn't helping his own cause.

"Wake up, damn you," Bert whined, kicking at Quinn's side. The brunette didn't take his lightly and kicked back, moaning something about how fucking annoying Bert was. "Oh I'm so hurt, Quinn. You hurt my wittle feewings!" A pillow was thrown at his face in frustration which only made him giggle and throw it back, hitting his friend square in the back of the head. "Fuck! Fine, Bert, I'm up!" Quinn gave up, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. "God, I don't know how I even live with you sometimes." Bert wrapped his arms around Quinn's neck affectionately and kissed his cheek sloppily. "Because you love me oodles, poodle." "Don't call me poodle. And stop kissing my cheek like that; as if I'm not already covered in your cooties enough." He wiped away the slobber on his face from Bert's exceptionally wet kiss, sighing with exasperation. "You're so bitchy in the morning, sheesh." Murder flashed in Quinn's eyes and he just let himself fall back with a huff, pulling the covers back over his head.

"Jesus, Bert. You're so much more trouble than you're worth sometimes."

Bert laughed bitterly. Gerard used to say that sometimes, too.

"Aw, this one looks so good, though."

"C'mon and just pick one so we can go, Bert."

"But I wanna choose right, Jeph. This is important," he declared.

Choosing what kind of booze to bring to a party probably wasn't as important as Bert McCracken stressed it to be, but this really wasn't the reason for the delay. Truthfully he was stalling; wasting time so that maybe they would let him get out of it. A few days ago he had agreed to going to this stupid party, but now he wasn't so sure, and he didn't know why. There was just a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he was missing some important detail about the party he was overlooking again and again and again. "You know what? You've taken long enough. Pick one, before I kick your skinny white ass to the car," Quinn said, seemingly at the very end of his ropes. "Fine then, grumpy. I pick this one." Dan, Jeph, and Quinn simultaneously thanked whatever God there was for this moment and grabbed a couple of bottles that Bert chose, hurrying to the checkout line.

If it weren't for the fact they all three of them insisted, Bert would not be coming to this party. If it wasn't also for the fact that Quinn had spent about a half an hour explaining to him why should go and what would happen if he didn't, Bert would not be coming to this party. There was "no reason why not." It was informal, for one thing, and it involved sitting around with friends and just having fun. It wasn't like a suit-and-tie affair, and Bert wasn't required to socialize with anybody he didn't know well enough. That made it easier to accept, but that uneasy feeling in the bottom of his stomach would not go away, even in the car when Jeph willingly held his hand. When one of his band-mates didn't calm him, Bert knew it was serious.

The car ride was agonizing. There seemed to be a parasite living in his body, eating away at his insides and munching on his brains. It was this thought of something awful happening; something that he was horrified of. There was such a negative feeling he knew it was a mistake to tag along, but he couldn't turn back now. "I'm telling you, something's going to be fucked up when we get there. I just know it guys." Maybe they all thought he was off his rocker, but whatever. Whether they believed him or not, something was wrong, and he was going to be very cautious at this party. It could have been anything; crystal meth, date rape… anything was possible at a party. He was expecting anything and everything.

Everything except what was waiting for him when they arrived.

The beginning went very smoothly, especially when he found himself getting reacquainted with Brian, who was still the same sweet guy he remembered. "You haven't changed much, I see," he said with a warm, knowing smirk as Bert approached. "Nope. And you're as fucking short as ever, Schechter." The two easily embraced without feeling awkward, a pleasant surprise for Bert who was feeling nothing but awkward all around. "Well, you're still as dirty as ever, aren't you?" His nose scrunched slightly with a light-hearted laugh, nodding in agreement. "That's me, dirty Robby. Always have been, always will be. But hey, you still love me for it." The two engaged in a long, interesting conversation about how their lives had been recently. Brian's was well put together and going wonderfully, while Bert's was chaotic and falling apart.

But what else was new.

Eventually, Brian was pulled away from him by other guests, and Bert was free to roam about the house. The music was loud and pulsating; it shook the house and vibrated through his body. It almost made him want to dance, but he contained himself with what little self-control he had. The house also smelled strongly of all kinds of alcohol, and though he desperately wanted some, he knew it wouldn't help his unsettled stomach any. He pushed through the crowd, trying to get closer to the stairs so he could go up, be like the heat and rise. Unfortunately, somebody decided that they were going to run into him as he was trying to get there.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—…Bert?"

No…

No, no, no!

Before his brain had a chance to register and identify this person, Bert ran. He just shoved past the guy and up the stairs, not looking back, nor responding to the various calls of his name. The first door he saw he opened—nope, taken. He slammed that door and moved on. Several doors later he finally opened it to find it vacant, quickly sliding in and shutting the door. It wasn't long before there was a knock, though. "Bert? Bert, I know you're in there, I saw you go in." No, it wasn't Brian. It wasn't Quinn, or Jeph, or Dan either. That would have been comforting to him. Instead, it was someone who he wanted to burn in hell for what he did to him, and how badly he'd crushed him. "G-go away!" he snarled, determined to sound menacing. He wasn't weak, or pathetic, or vulnerable. He could do this—"Oh come ON, Bert, you know I'm not going to just go away. You know me much better than that."

Fuck, this was like his worst nightmare times his best dream times his worst nightmare again!

For a moment though, he let himself think about how nice it was to hear his voice. It was as silky and smooth as he remembered it, and even though there was a perplexed and irritated tone smothering it, it still sounded beautiful. He couldn't believe how gorgeous he still was, after this long. He also couldn't believe how hard it was not to just rip open the door and kiss him right then and there. But no, Bert wasn't like this. Where was the real him? The calm, cool, and collected Bert McCracken, the one he most often liked to be. He was no longer here to help him; now there was just the Bert McCracken left behind from all the hurt and all the pain.

It was then that he realized how angry he was with the man currently banging on the door to get in. So he let him in. He swung the door open and yanked Gerard inside, flipping on the light switch and shoving him away. "Oh, what a pleasant surprise," he snarled coldly, his eyes a steely, icy blue. "I never thought I'd stumble across your sorry ass again in my lifetime." A hurt look crossed the elder's face, and Bert smirked smugly. Good, he deserved to feel hurt. "Bert, please…" Those pale, slender, perfect hands reached out for him, and Gerard moved closer, but Bert just shoved him away. "Save it, Gerard. What's a guy like you messing with a stupid fuck like me for, huh? What about your wife? Your kid? You've got it all; you don't need to fuck with my mind. I'm nothing to you now."

He couldn't help but act this way. All of his anger and fury and pain were coming out, right there and right then. Emotions, pure and raw, swirled around the surface of his heart and battled for dominance. He ignored them, staring down the bane of his existence right in front of him. "Bert… you're not a stupid fuck, and I don't want to talk to you just to mess with your head. Really, you can believe me." "Can I? Can I really fucking believe you? I don't think so," he spat. He turned to open the door but a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him so that his back was against the door. Gerard's face was right there, so close that their breaths were mingling. "Yes, you can believe me. We have to talk."

What was it about this that brought tears to his eyes? Was it the fact that Gerard was so different; so completely different that he wasn't his anymore? Or maybe it was because his lips were inches away, and yet he couldn't reach them with his own. He thought it might have been a mix of the two, and then the fact that this was even happening, when he so badly never wanted it to. Whatever the case, he was appalled—what the fuck would Gerard Way want to do with him? How dare he even do this! "Leave me alone," he hissed, trying to struggle. His attempts were only half-hearted though; Gerard was bigger than him, and probably a bit stronger, too. He didn't truly expect to escape the situation he was in now until Gerard had said what he wanted to say. That was just fucking peachy.

"I have to know," the elder began, warm, sweet smelling breath fanning across Bert's face. "I have to know if that song is about me." Shock coursed its way through Bert's veins. Not only shock, but rage. Not only rage, but on an odd hilarity about the entire situation. "You came in here to ask me if I wrote a song about you." His own voice was so much calmer than he thought it should sound, because on the inside and outside he really was shaking with fury. "W-well, sort of… I mean, I really want to know if it's about me. It's been… itching at me ever since your record came out a few days ago." The younger's dark eyebrows pulled together warily. "Which song are you talking about? And… you bought our new record?" "I was curious. And… it's 'The Best of Me.'"

The Best of Me. That song was the one he wrote that day that he screamed at the top of his lungs at everything in particular. It really was about Gerard, and it wasn't surprising that the man was able to figure that out. Bert was pretty sure that deep in his eyes, Gerard could already see the answer. But he said it out loud anyway. He spoke fluently and articulately so that Gerard could understand his every word perfectly clearly. "Yes. It was about you. It was about you and how I hate you, and how every single fucking day I have to live with this shit. I have to live with what you've made me, you stupid, stupid motherfucker." There were tears rolling down his cheeks. Gerard hesitated.

"Do you… really hate me?"

"…Yes."

Everything, absolutely everything was shoved aside at that moment. Bert didn't want to let these feelings control him, but the moment he uttered that last word… their lips slammed together. There was no comforting control here; the kind that Bert lived off of. Gerard was the one with the control, the one that was massaging their lips together. He was the one that was sliding his hands up and down Bert's body, trying to find some familiarity. The way their lips moved together was familiar, because Bert was kissing back now. He was kissing back with all he had, biting at the older man's lips, his tongue—whatever his teeth could sink in to. Gerard didn't even seem to notice. "I… hate… you… with every… ounce… of my… being…" Bert spat between kisses. "I'm going… to bite your tongue off…" To emphasize this he bit down on said wet organ and Gerard just groaned, rubbing their hips together.

Well fuck, so much for that.

Finally, the guy let him get some air, and Bert inhaled deeply. What he wouldn't give for a cigarette right then… "Get the fuck off of me." He finally inhaled enough oxygen for the synapses between his brain cells to begin functioning again, so he immediately spat that out of anger that was still lingering over him. It was no match for Gerard's odd, misplaced determination however—suddenly there were lips at his neck, sucking and biting at the flesh. "You know, you make me wanna forget, too…" His voice was so husky; rich… it made him shudder. He kissed Bert's throat, all the way up to his jaw, sucking on the skin there momentarily. "You make me want to forget about everything else but you. And I hate that," during that last sentence Gerard nipped sensually at his earlobe, earning a gasp. This was not like him; Bert hated being dominated! No, this was not going to happen!

But it was happening.

Urgently, lips were against his again, seeming to suck the breath from his very mouth. He kissed back fiercely but it was obvious he was not going to gain back the control that he never had in the first place—and that made him feel helpless. His heart was thudding erratically in his chest, and he wouldn't be surprised if he had a heart attack at the young age of twenty-seven. There was nothing he could do to stop this either, because no matter how hard he shoved or pushed Gerard would not move away. "Gerard," he finally gasped as the other pulled away for air. "S-stop this." They were both breathing heavily through swollen lips, but Gerard was the one with the fire in his eyes. Bert's fire was soaked with water; tears that still formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Do you really want me to stop?" The question was forward and confident.

Bert wanted to face the challenge head on, like a man would. Like he normally would, had his brain not been have replaced with a pair of sneakers. But that's not what happened.

Instead of answering, Bert ran—his solution to everything in life. After cruelly shoving the man away from him, he jerked the door open, and bolted down the stairs (nearly tripping over himself in the process). He ran out the back door and outside, not even paying attention to the pouring down rain. Following the trail that led into the woods, he ran from the epitome of his eternal damnation, Gerard Way. He couldn't even think about Gerard following him all the way out here… in the middle of the freaking woods. He probably wouldn't even think about it. How could he? Bert wasn't nearly worth what his wife and child were worth. Even if he had said that he made him want to forget it all… Those words still lingered, trailing a line of deceit down his spine.

Even if Gerard still wanted him, he was married. There was nothing left of what they used to be.

There shouldn't have been, at least.

Sighing, Bert found a nice tree to lean against, taking shelter from the cold, and wet rain. Thinking about his problems was just a silly idea for the man that always ran away, so instead he started to hum a little bit of "Under Pressure." They'd done a cover of that song, his band and Gerard's band together. He could remember how fun it was to be on stage with him; to be able to watch that magical transformation between the real Gerard and the theatrical Gerard that the fans knew. He missed those days—"B-Bert." Oh no, not his voice again! It hadn't even been ten minutes and he was already here, soaking wet and looking even more like a dark angel. "Bert, you're going to get yourself sick you know. I feel guilty enough already, so—"

"Well then why don't you just fucking GO?" Bert nearly screamed, shoving Gerard back away from him. "If you feel so fucking bad you should just pack up and leave me like you did in the first place, you fucker! I'm going to die soon anyway, right? Wh-what the fuck d-does it m-matter?" Shit, now he was crying again. This was the second time in one night that Gerard Way made him cry, and this time he was going to hurt him. But of course, even though he truly wanted to, he couldn't. His fist went forward so slowly it wouldn't hurt a fly; Gerard barely flinched. The older of the two grabbed his wrists gently with one hand and brought the other one up to stroke the wet hair out of Bert's face. "My, oh my, what am I going to do with you?" he asked with a sigh. "I wasn't expecting you to be here tonight, Bert, but when I saw you… it all came back to me. I can't believe what I've done to you…"

Bert snarled at him. "No, you know EXACTLY what you've done to me! You've made me a fucking zombie! I'm a monster, a fucking empty shell. I don't even have to fucking tell you the last time I was really happy in my life, because you were there. You ruined me by leaving me. And I hate you, from the bottom of my stupid, pointless little heart. I hope you burn in hell." He was vulnerable, and weak, and pathetic, just like everyone else, if not more so. All of that was spelled out in that small, crushing speech. Bert had just admitted to being completely and utterly dependant on someone, when most of his life he'd denied that fact to the extreme degree. "Bert…" Gerard began, taking his face in his hands. "It's okay to hate me. It really is. What I did to you was unforgivable. But I love you."

Angry tears spilled over the brims of Bert's eyes.

"This i-is the third t-time tonight that y-you've m-made me c-c-cry, f-fucker. Y-you owe me. Th-three strikes and y-you're out." Smiling softly, Gerard kissed him again. This time it was soft, gentle; it was a building kiss. It was completely mushy, utterly emotional, and totally loving, yet Bert was taking part in it. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until finally the fire was there again, smoldering at both of their skin. "I s-still hate you," Bert confessed quickly as Gerard's lips began to wander again. Clothes were being removed, piece by piece, but Bert wasn't really taking notice. The rain was coming down harder which made it more difficult to hear the other person, but they were managing just fine since one didn't need to be able to hear to kiss.

Their memories; they were in every single one of the kisses that they shared that night. Every brush of the lips and every touch of the skin brought up a new memory that seemed to light up their sky like a firework. "This so isn't me," Bert said, loud enough for Gerard to hear him. It wasn't him to be controlled, nor was it him to be gentle. "I think it is. I think it could be you if you'd let it." Were they really doing this out here, in the pouring down rain? They were going to get sick as fuck the next day. Sadly, Bert wasn't worried about the next day. Bert wasn't even worried about the next minute. He was worried about every individual second, and what this meant for him. What it meant for them.

In the back of his mind, he might have realized that all of this meant nothing.

"O-oh god," he moaned, taken back by how aggressive Gerard was being. It was something so new; something that he probably learned while dominating his pretty new wife. "Y-you know, after everything that's h-happened between you and I, I still miss us. I r-really did mean it when I t-told you that I l-loved you." There wasn't an "us" anymore between them, though. As much as Bert wished there was, there wasn't. There was a "him and her", of course, but no "us". If he hadn't been so distracted by Gerard, he probably would have cried over that. He would have cried over everything. He would have cried over what was probably going to happen in the morning.

Would he still be there?

In all likelihood, no, he would not.

Before he could submerge that thought into his mind and analyze it like he probably wouldn't have anyway, it was cut off by pleasure. A mass amount of it, all being brought to him by none other than [i]him[/i]—the beautiful, talented, gorgeous, never-to-be-his Gerard Way. He writhed for Gerard, and screamed for Gerard, and in the end, he loved for Gerard. After it was all said and done with, and they were lying there in each other's arms on the dirt and the mud and the grass, he heard Gerard whisper to the rain. "You know, it's funny. They say the things we always want are the things that we can't have. I can't ever have you, can I? I've never truly had you, and I truly never will. But you really do make me want to forget about it all, Bert."

That was the last thing he heard before he closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

In the morning there was no one there. His clothes were under his head as a pillow and a jacket that wasn't his was draped over his body gently. Before anything else—the sting came. The pain of knowing that he'd left him all alone again was hard to handle. Bringing a hand to his face, to wipe away the tears, he noticed that there was something in that hand. A piece of paper, so simple and clean-cut lied in the palm of his hand. On it, delicately written in a nearly messy scrawl that could only belong to the hand of one, were three beautiful, sinful words—"I love you."


End file.
